


Recovery Is Silent

by NobodyOfficial



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies), Pacific Rim Uprising - Fandom
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, I swear, M/M, Nightmares, post precursor newt, selective mutism, supportive boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-08 03:55:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14096679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NobodyOfficial/pseuds/NobodyOfficial
Summary: UPRISING SPOILERS AHEADNewt is now precursor-free and has been safely returned to Hermann's arms (where he belongs imho) but something's still not quite right. None of Newt's old hobbies interest him and he seems determined to keep his traumatic experiences to himself. For once Hermann finds himself wishing Newt would just talk.





	Recovery Is Silent

**Author's Note:**

> This one isn't too great, I'm sorry. I would write a lengthy fic on everything I've addressed here but I have exams soon and this was the only way could get my ideas down. Hope it's not too bad!

Recovery was slow. Hermann knew this, he'd lived through a war, drifted with a kaiju. Once he'd declared Newt free of the precursors and he'd been unshackled from the chair Hermann had expected nothing less than a long, gruelling recovery filled with hospital visits, sleepless nights, and jarring panic attacks. And since Newt had never been one to do anything quietly Hermann had expected him to make a humongous fuss about it all.

But he didn't. For possibly the first time in his life Newt was utterly and completely silent.

Hermann made sure the doctors double and triple checked his brain function, making certain nothing had been damaged or severed in his disconnection with the precursors, but they found few issues besides the expected mental health disorders. His vocal chords were in perfect health, his hearing was as good as could be expected, what with all the deafening rock music he'd spent his life listening to, and his understanding of what was going on was confirmed by his ability to nod and shake his head at appropriate moments in conversation.

Hermann tried not to let Newt's silence worry him. He was safe and alive, which was more than could've been said for him yesterday. Hermann could've stood a little silence, if that had been the only difference in Newt.

It had always been impossible for Hermann to tell if Newt was slightly chubby or if his clothes were just so obscenely tight they made him look that way. He'd always picked rather begrudgingly at Shatterdome food but had practically demanded first 'dibs' on any branded America produce that came in. Hermann was certain he'd once seen him devour an entire box of Twinkies in minutes, but he didn't like to pry. Either way Newt was fussy about what he ate and incredibly vocal when he didn't enjoy it.

The precursors had taken goon enough care of Newt's body not to let him die, but they had truly carried out the bare minimum of self care. He was weak and malnourished, barely able to stand without Hermann's support. He had offered him a spare cane, as a joke, but had been shocked when Newt actually took it. After years of taunting, if affectionate, old-man-jokes Hermann had expected him to scoff at the prospect.

Since he'd demanded Newt share his living space, Hermann brought Newt's meals back to his room while he was still too sick to walk. Every tray he delivered was filled with bland cafeteria food Newt usually couldn't stomach more than a few mouthfuls of. Now he finished everything on the tray.

At first Hermann put it down to the fact that he'd been half-starved for the past ten years, of course he'd eat anything put in front of him, but as weeks passes and Newt began to regain some weight he continued to clear his tray with no complaining. There was never any enjoyment or satisfaction as he ate; he gave Hermann a nod of thanks when he received the food, then proceeded to consume it robotically.

Hermann then tried his best to provide Newt with things he remembered him enjoying: pancakes and jello and poptarts. Newt took them gratefully, but demolished them with all the enthusiasm of a brick wall. He never seemed hungry, at least he never told Hermann when he was hungry (something he had once taken great delight in yelling across the lab) but he was never full either. As tempting as it was to experiment, find out what was wrong with Newt, Hermann didn't have it in him. He continued to bring Newt three food trays a day.

Once Newt was well enough to get out of bed Hermann expected him to come out of shell a little. He'd stocked the bathroom with hair gel, collected as many rock CDs as were available to him, and had even managed to find an old book on the rainforest. It wasn't close to Newt's favourite biology topic, but it was all he'd been able to get his hands on.

Newt chose to spend his time on the couch, staring at the wall. Hermann tried to be scared for him rather than scared of him, but it was difficult.

After months of insufferable nothingness Hermann took Newt to the lab. Their work had always been tiring but enjoyable, fulfilling, especially to Newt. He hoped the lab would reignite his interest in science, maybe stir up some kind of emotion in Newt. It did, but not the emotion Hermann had been hoping for.

Horror.

That was the look on the scientists' faces when they caught sight of Newt. Test tubes shattered, experiments were discarded, people fled the lab in fear. Those who dared remain armed themselves, peering out at Newt from behind benches.

Newt's steely expression didn't shift but he turned and hurried from the room. Hermann left him to watch the wall.

For Newt's sake Hermann put his own nightmares on hold. They had to share a bed, the room wasn't big enough for two, but Hermann had always been a relatively still sleeper. When he had a nightmare he simply rolled over and stared at the ceiling until morning, body slick with cold sweat and heart hammering. He could do that, for Newt.

Until one night he couldn't.

As usual, Hermann was perched precariously on the edge of the bed. He feared accidentally getting close to Newt in the night, in case he made him uncomfortable. His nightmare started out as usual: fire, hell, torment, Newt. Newt was always there, huddled against Hermann's side, making his nightmares almost bearable. It had been the two of them against the world and even the most isolated, fear-driven part of Hermann's brain couldn't ignore that.

Then the nightmare began to change. Hermann turned to find Newt no longer at his side, sending a spear of despair through his heart. He whipped his head left and right, looking for Newt and finding only destruction. And then there was one of those things, those disgusting things, stood at his shoulder where Newt had been and he felt sick and there were hands on his shoulders but no one at his back and he was panicking and it growled, the thing growled, "He's gone," and suddenly Hermann was choking up and-

"Hermann?"

His eyes snapped open. Everything was silent. Everything was still. He turned slowly and found Newt's hands on his shoulders and his concerned eyes lit by the glow of emergency alarms. If he didn't know better Hermann could've sworn he'd just said-

"Hermann?" Newt's voice was hoarse from months of disuse, but it was so caring, so rich with emotion that Hermann could've cried. In fact, he realised, he was crying.

Newt let out a sleepy sigh and rolled onto his back, then held his arms out for Hermann to hug him. Hermann inched across the bed cautiously; the last time Newt had willingly touched him was to lock his fingers around his neck and though Hermann knew it hadn't been his fault he was wary. He rested his head on Newt's shoulder. Newt wrapped his arms around him.

"Nightmare?" Newt asked softly. Hermann nodded, dumbfounded. "Sorry, probably my fault. I won't hurt you, I promise. You're probably terrified, having to share a bed with me."

Hermann instantly regretted his previous thoughts. He adjusted the position of his head to make himself more comfortable then draped an arm over Newt's waist in an attempt to make him feel more secure too. "I demanded to share a room with you, Newt. I'm not afraid."

"Everyone else is, though. Everyone's terrified of me. I'm a monster."

"That is false information. A _monster_ was _you_ , for a period, and it's not anymore. You did nothing wrong." Hermann had told Newt this hundreds of times over, but this was the first time he'd been able to have an actual conversation about it.

"You saw the way those scientists fled. The little trainee pilots won't even look at me, they're disgusted. I killed their friend. I killed a child Hermann, and you're just lying on the bed with me like I'm allowed to be a human." Newt had tightened his grip on Hermann, but when he realised what he was doing he quickly let go. Hermann pulled him closer.

"You did nothing. It was all them, we know that. Everyone knows that. Once you show them you're nothing to be afraid of everything will go back to normal, I promise." He could heart Newt's heart hammering. "If you don't mind my asking, why the silence?"

Newt didn't reply for a moment and Hermann feared he wouldn't. "I wanted to make sure I wasn't doing anything wrong before I started trying to do things right," he said. "I miss talking."

"You haven't done anything wrong. Don't worry about doing things wrong, everyone does something wrong once in a while. You should be working on getting better just now, not worrying about other people."

"I think worrying about other people is good. You worry about me all the time, and you're, like, the coolest dude ever." He paused for a shaky breath. "I remember some things. The emails. You in the elevator. When you hugged me. When you stroked my hand gently, even thought I was crushing your oesophagus. When you saved my life. Thanks, Herm."

Oh God had Hermann missed that nickname. "Newton, I would do all that and more to save your sorry ass."

Newt smiled. Hermann was ready to back to sleep, curled up on Newt's chest, when he said, "So are we, like, dating or something now?" Hermann prepared to answer, but Newt had opened a flood gate and a year's worth of conversation needed to pour out. "'Cause, like, I know you've always been sort of like, 'Newton, you're not that bad. Newton, let me help you with that. Newton, get some adult clothes.' And now it's kind of the same but, like, you call me Newt which is pretty cool and there's no 'Get some proper clothes' it's more like, I dunno, you just stroke my hair and sweet stuff, I like that."

Hermann only had the vaguest grasp of what Newt's original question had been. "I don't want to force anything on you too quickly, but if things had been different, less end-of-the-Earth-destructive, I certainly would've asked you out on a date."

"Oh cool, good," Newt breathed. "Because if not this would be totally weird."

Hermann settled down to fall asleep again. "And one more thing-" A smile crept across Hermann's face, causing a warm stirring in his chest. Eleven years. Eleven years since he'd heard Newt talk like this. God had he missed it. "We have got to talk about this bland cafeteria food, Herm, you know I can't stand it but you keep giving it to me, it's like you don't even know me-" He stopped suddenly and tensed. It took Hermann a moment to realise why; for the past eleven years he hadn't really known Newt.

"I know you well enough by now," he said lightly. Then he kissed Newt on the cheek. It was a little awkward but not forced, and overall felt quite good.

Newt continued, "And I know you have access to cake and good food yet you keep giving me that bland, starchy stuff and I won't stand for it, I only want cake."

"It would be incredibly unwise of me to only feed you cake." Hermann ran a hand over Newt's waist, which was as warm and comforting as he remembered it to be.

"You don't have to feed me cake, dude, I can feed myself cake. I was an alien for ten years, I can eat as much cake as I like."

"You're never going to stop using that one, are you?" Hermann smirked. It was good that Newt could joke about it. "Well, as the person who saved your life twice I feel responsible for you." Newt didn't even have to say anything for Hermann to cave. "Ok, I'll get you more cake."

Hermann glanced up at Newt's sleepy smile as he stared at the ceiling. He was once again calm after his nightmare and was almost certain he'd sleep better than he had for years with Newt cuddled into his side. But that didn't matter. Sleep would have to wait. "You've missed out on eleven years of talking, Newt. Anything else you want to say?"

"So much, dude, so much," Newt enthused. Then he embarked on the world's longest monologue. Hermann focused on Newt's playful tones and soft expressions, basking in his presence. He didn't talk about anything of importance, just his new favourite flavour of curry and a band he'd discovered and how he'd always loved Hermann.

Tomorrow, under the harsh, fake lights, Newt would probably be afraid again. He'd avert his eyes in the corridors and stare at his shoes and flinch at the sight of his tattoos. But recovery was slow. Hermann knew that. And wrapped in the soft darkness Newt just needed to talk and for once Hermann had no need to interrupt him.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: itsalwayssunnyontelevision
> 
> Thanks for reading :)


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